


Misery

by Leetaemint1xxx



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Drama, F/M, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leetaemint1xxx/pseuds/Leetaemint1xxx
Summary: Harleen Quinzel was a great psychiatrist, no doubt about it. Then the Joker appeared changing how she saw the world completely. He made her life living hell, but at the same time he saved her. Oh, how confused he had made her...





	1. one

Harley Frances Quinzel was content.  
After all the years of hard work and effort she'd finally got a internship in the Arkham Asylum for criminally insane. She even got her own office. It was a bit smaller and cramped than ususal, but it belonged to her. She smiled once again and got comfotrable in leather chair by mahogany desk. John Myers' case file was laying in front of her along with her notes, but Harleen was looking at the window. Raindrops were hitting on glass calming girl's mind.  
It was late. Quinzel was probably the last doctor at Arkham at that hour. Everyone else had gone home to be with their families. Harleen sighed, involuntarily fixed the glasses on her nose and looked at the files again.  
Myers was an interesting case. Almost-to-be murderer caught red handed by his victim's mother. Marie Irons had been cut on her neck, stomach and thighs with a pocket knife before falling unconscious. John was found crying maniacally next to the girl. When asked why he did it, he answered, "She had to change."  
He wasn't too interested in the fact that the girl he'd hurt will be fucked up for the rest of her life. She was placed in a private clinic outside the city.  
The strange thing was that the never got in trouble with police prior to his incident. He was a perfect citizen, paying taxes, staying in shadows. Harleen could not find anything leading to domestic violence. John's mind was a puzzle and it was annoying the intern very much.  
His face alwyas stayed the same. Bored, extremely bored. He did not speak a lot. Answered the questions briefly, with no emotions. Harleen thought it was because of meds he was taking, but she was told Myers' prescriptions had been revoked.  
"Revoked? Why?" she asked.  
"He doesn't need 'em," nurse replied, shrugging.  
Quinzel had so many questions in her head. During sessions he had to sit quiet and stare as doctor Leland was trying to squeeze out at least a few sentences out of Myers. Harleen wanted to talk to him.  
"No way, girl!" Leland refused.  
"One session, Joan! I can feel I could do some good!"  
"I can't allow that."  
"I'll be fine," Quinzel objected. "There will be guards behind the door and I'll have the panic button next to me. I just want to talk with him."  
Joan Leland grimaced and said, "I'll see what I can do."  
Couple days later Harleen was proudly walking down the corridor in Arkham to an appointed room where she could finally get some work done with John. In the room there was a table with two chairs.Weak light was giving it a slight yellow glow. Harleen placed her notebook on table top and sat down. She fixed her dark skirt and pushed a golden curl behind her ear. She was very excited.  
When Myers was sat down wearing a straitjacket she sent him a small smile. The man did not react while one of the guards gave her a weird look. The girl exhaled focusing on the patient and completely ignoring cameras or guards.  
"Hello. I am doctor Harleen Quinzel," she introduced herself lightly. "I'll be your therapist for now, mister Myers."  
The man was still looking at her with a bored expression. The intern opened her notebook, took a pen and asked, "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"  
"Not really."  
"No? Well, I was thinking maybe we should we to know each other better."  
Myers sneered. "Everything about me is those papers."  
Harleen shook her head smiling again.  
"Not everything." He looked at her while squinting. "There's nothing about your favourite colour, hobby, music you like the most."  
"What does it matter?"  
"It matters a lot, mister Myers." She noted 'pertinacious'. "I won't be able to help you, if you don't talk."  
Distaste appeared on Myers' face. He leaned back on his chair and glanced at a small window on the right. Quinzel scribbled 'reserved'. He saa that and wrinkled his nose. the girl breathed quietly. 'Observant'.  
"I heard you've been off your medication for a while now," Harleen tried with a diffrent approach. "And I don't think you're a madman. I'd like to know what happened, what made you hurt that girl..."  
Suddenly Myers rose up making the table jump. On his usual bored face appeared anger. He was breathing heavily and his arms looked as if they could emerge from the restrains. Harleen pressed the button immediately. She stood up with a violently beating heart. Two guards entered the room tackling John Myers on the ground.  
"Stop!" Quinzel screamed.  
Leland appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the blonde and her notebook before dragging her away.  
Standing in front of Jeremiah Arkham in his office felt awful. Harleen was like a child who did not listen to her parent and got scolded badly. She got assigned to Ariadna Walker, black widow. Killed four men, took their money, standard stuff. She took her meds, liked to have a chit-chat. Probably none of her stories were real.  
Harleen was still thinking about John Myers.  
Whatever happened that day, whatever made him so angry he had to hurt his own girlfriend was not mental illness. Marie must've triggered something deep inside that man. He was hiding some dark feelings. No man goes from an honor student to a freak who stabs people in a span of a few years. Harleen was considering child abuse or bullying before. It had to be it.  
After begging Joan for days she could finally go back to treating John. She fixed her glasses and mentally reminded herself to buy the other woman an expensive bottle of wine. Their places switched. Joan was now sitting in a dark corner observing.  
"How are you, mister Myers?"  
"John," the man muttered.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Call me John."  
Harleen nodded with a smile.  
"I'm sorry for the last time," Myers continued monotonously. "I got angry, it was not cool."  
The blonde was struck dumb.  
"It's alright," she replied. "Everyone has a right to get angry. It's human."  
Whole session went smoothly. Quinzel was asking questions, John was answering. She found out he'd had a sweet tooth. He also enjoyed Bob Marley's music. He told the intern a few stories. She giggled once or twice. But she did not touch the subject of Marie, not yet.  
If it weren't for the straitjacket, or the bad smell, Harleen could almost feel as if she was having a small talk with an old friend in a pub. Unfortunately, the session had come to an end. Joan arose from her seat and Quinzel began to pick up her papers.  
"She called me a pussy."  
Sound of Myers' voice starled the blonde. She raised her head and looked at him with questioning look. The vulgar word he'd used threw her off guard. Leland kept quiet, too.  
"She called me a pussy," John repeated. "And I ain't a pussy."  
And on that same day John Myers was reported dead. He'd hung himself in his cell at night. Harleen had realized she was wrong all along. John's incident was not an impulse. It was a planned act born from hatred.  
Quinzel closed her eyes and closed John's files. She will have to put them in the archives, just like the rest of deceased patients' papers. She took her coat and bag as she was headed to her empty apartment. She'd also have to ask about the Joker again.


	2. two

She felt miserable.  
Not only because she'd lost a patient, but because her wrong theory could not let her help John. Only if she were right she'd prevent those awful events. But Joan did not agree.  
"It wasn't your fault. It had to happen sonner ot later."  
Harleen could not look at it like that, especially when life is at stake. Even Ariadna Walker could see.  
"Don't look so sour, doc. Shit happens." When Harleen looked at her reproachfully she laughed. "People talk."  
Quinzel was sitting in a blue kitchen in her apartment. A cup with steaming hot coffee was helping her with staying awake, while she was reading a newspaper. On the front page it said in big bold letters 'Another robbery in Gotham'. The girl leaned over the article. This time the target turned out to be a jewelry store. Two policemen dead, robbers were not caught. There was a black and white picture of a broken cabinet.  
She felt as if she was back at University with Guy. Back then papers and tv were talking about Joker day and night. She was working on her thesis. Arkham was her biggest dream.  
Harleen blinked and realized her drink had gone cold. It was an early morning, but she decided to head back to bed.  
"Let's talk about something else," Ariadna said the next day. "Don't wanna play charades, it's boring."  
The doctor was quiet.  
"You're still fussing? Come on, it's been so long..." When she did not get a response, she tried to provoke Quinzel. "Everyone is wondering what'd you do to that poor guy Myers that he had to take care of himself."  
Blonde's face hardened, but the other woman kept talking. "You thought you got him all figured out, huh? her voice grew bitter. "That's the problem with you people. You're the smartest here."  
"No, we're not," Harleen replied at last. "And that's why John ended up this way. I was wrong."  
Silence fell. Two women were staring at each other, then Ariadna smiled widely and leaned in. "I got news. Wanna hear?"  
The girl rolled her eyes. Walker's mood swings were really tiresome. There was no way to get ready for what could happen next. Perhaps another story, or a pen to the eye?  
"I'm all ears."  
Ariadna made a dramatic face and looked at the doors checking, if someone was eavesdropping. Her eyes became even bigger. "The joker bit off guard's ear. You heard?"  
Of course she'd heard. She's been following Joker's every move for a while now. Besides, it was not hard to notice a running man with a bloody cheek and fearful face. You could hear the characteristic clown laugh in a whole building.  
"Sure I did."  
"You know why he did it?"  
Quinzel shrugged.  
"Apparently, that dude'd stepped a tiny bit too close to Mr J's comfort zone. And that's what I call crazy! We all got nothing on him."  
Harleen could not say Walker was wrong. Every patient has a past. Mental illness is always hidden in that period, no matter if it's loneliness, abandonment or boredom. But not Joker. He does not have a real name, parents or childhood. Not a single thing which could lead to his roots. He was a riddle to Harleen and unraveling him felt exciting. But she would never admit to it. There was also Batman. The only person the clown was connected with. His nemesis.  
Quinzel shuddered woken up from her thoughts. Ariadna was staring at her intensively.  
"Know what, doc? I like you."  
"Really?" Blonde's voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Ariadna purred.  
"You're nice. You don't judge us freaks."  
"I'm in no position to judge you."  
"Right," Walker drawled. "That's not what my daddy'd say." She said that last word with such sweetness that Harleen's guts turned. She blinked and asked:  
"What do you mean?"  
"God is merciful, but not everyone deserves his love," Ariadna whispered then twisted her lips in a pout.  
"I thought your father left when you were a child."  
"Oh no, no, no. My foster dad!"  
Harleen skinned and nervously fixed her glasses.  
"He was a cool guy, but he talked too much. Like them priests on Sundays."  
"Was he a pastor?"  
"Nope," Walker laughed. "He was a redneck who tried to look smart. Know what is the best bit?"  
"What?"  
"I didn't have to kill him, he did it for me."


	3. three

She was again in doctor Arkham's office. She was looking at her hands and twidsting her fingers nervously. She did not want to look at the man. She felt like shit.  
"Quinzel," the director said and the girl had to look up. "What is it with you?"  
The blonde could not find an answer, but Arkham was waiting. "I'm not sure myself."  
The man sighed. Harleen reluctantly thought back on the previous day and session with Paul Mars. She was a substitute for another doctor who had a sick wife in the hospital. Right after Harleen went into the room, she saw that the patient was not friendly. He was frowning. He sat while rocking on his chair.  
Before the session Quinzel looked through his files. Paul Mars, 38 years old, born in Gotham. No mention of close family. Had been unemployed for 2 years. Possibility of schizophrenia. He'd hit a random person on the street.  
Harleen was told to show him some of his own drawings. They were mostly pastel scribbles.  
"What is on the picture?" she showed him one of the pictures. There were pink flowers and a female face in the middle. Paul did not say anything. He kept rocking.  
"Hello?" Still no answer. "Paul?"  
His head suddenly snapped back and he looked at her anxiously.  
"What does this picture represent?"  
His eyes turned to the drawing, saliva dripping from his mouth.  
"Is it someone close to you?"  
He shook his head.  
"Is it someone you admire?"  
He nodded.  
"Who is it?  
"Jane," he stammered quietly.  
Jane. Harleen looked at the picture. The woman on it had brown hair, full lips and freckles. She looked like one of the nurses at Arkham, Jane Goldblum.  
The blonde heard a chair screeching against the floor. When she looked up Paul was leaning over her with wide eyes. She could feel his breath on her frozen face. Fortunately, cuffs chianed to the ground held him back. He stayed in that position for a while then sat back. Harleen let out a big breath of air.  
"Quinzel, I've been thinking about assigning Joker to you, but now I'm not so sure."  
Her heart almost stopped. Jeremiah noticed her pained expression and asked, "Why'd Paul Mars had to be sedated?"  
"I was showing him his drawings, just like I'd ben told. Then I asked him about Jane, a nurse whom he likes. Apparently that angered him."  
"Since Myers you haven't been the same," Arkham stated. "And I know how hard you worked to get where you are right now. So I'm going to give you a chance to figure it out. Go home. And when you're back you'll be able to treat Joker." His tone said 'no excuses'.  
Quinzel did as he'd said. She took her stuff quickly leaving. It was a late evening, but she did not want to go back home yet. She'd figured fresh air should help her.   
She stopped her car by a pub in the heart of Gotham. She sat for a few minutes not able to decide, if she should go in. She hit her hands on the steering wheel then headed inside the place. Smell of cigarette smoke and sweat hit her nostrils right at the entrance. She inhaled deeply savouring the stench.  
She walked towards the bar while looking around. Middle aged man stood behind it along with a young girl. She smiled viciously at Harleen's appearance. The young woman was still wearing a navy blouse and pencil skirt. Her hair was in a braid. She sat on one of the stools looking shy.  
"You want somethin' to drink?" the barmaid asked. Her eyes shone like emeralds.  
"Beer," Quinzel replied shortly.  
As soon as the girl turned around to get a glass Harleen let her hair down. It fell on her shoulders softly. She drank most of the gold liquid at once. She hadn't realized how much she missed it. She could afford a bit of craziness at college. Memories of parties with Guy and his friends still remained in her head.  
One night everybody, but Harleen and Guy, were either asleep or scavenging in the kitchen. The couple was laying on smelly old sofa, playing footsie.  
"Wanna hear a joke?"  
"No, enough!"  
"Please, Quin, you'll love this one!"  
The girl gave up and poked her boyfriend on his belly with her foot.  
"Knock knock."  
"Who's there?"  
"Ya."  
"Ya who?"  
"I'm excited to see you, too!" They both bursted into laughter.  
Harleen saw by the corner of her eye someone sitting next to her. It was a tanned man wearing a leather jacket. "Whiskey," he mumbled to the barmaid.  
Quinzel had no idea what went into her, but she said, "Rough day?"  
The man smiled faintly then glanced at her. He had a scar on his cheek. "You have no idea."  
'Believe me, I do,' she thought to herself bitterly.  
"Back from work?"  
"The boss had given me a few free days."  
"Lucky you." The guy turned away, somebody was calling for him. He sent her a friendly look and he was gone. Quinzel decided to go home by foot.  
Surprisingly, Harleen slept through a whole night with no problems. In the morning she got up freshened up, ate a big breakfast and came back for her car. In the evening she sent a mail to Paul Mars' therapist. The rest of her free time she spent reading all of her notes on Joker. She stopped to look at his potograph. It was black and white, but he looked intimidating as ever. His sharp features, tattoos, thin lips gave Harleen palpitations. They were not those 'butterflies in belly' kinda palpitations. It felt more like a mix of fear and excitement.  
Those feelings never left her, even when she was walking to a room at the end of a corridor. Her heart almost lept out of her chest, hands were clammy. Despite all of it Harleen could not wait anymore. She halted right by the door, so the guard could open it. He sent her a miserable look.  
Harleen went in and nearly smirked. Two more guards were standing by Joker's sides. She skinned as a sign to let them know they can leave.  
They were alone.  
"Well, hello there."  
And at that time Quinzel was sure she had been made for treating Joker.


	4. four

"Hello."  
He looked so much better than on the photos. His vibrant green hair contrasted nicely with his alabaster skin. He had dark circles under his blue eys, lips painted red presumably with lipstick. He was wearing a standard straitjacket, but it did not make him look any less intimidating.  
"I'm doctor Harleen Quinzel. From now on I'll be your psychiatrist. I'm honored to be here with you-" He suddenly started laughing. It was an unnatural sound. It felt fake and drawn out. He breathed in when he'd stopped.  
"Are you flirting with me, doc?" he asked.  
That's when Harleen noticed he had a metal grill. It shone in yellow light of the room. That's not what confused her. His voice also sounded strange, guttural, low. As if he was purring. When Harleen hadn't answered he laughed.  
"Just kidding, doc."  
The blonde cleared her throat.  
"I meant it."  
"I have a fan? Yipee!"  
"I don't support your actions. I'm simply interested in your psyche."  
"Oh, so you don't have a death wish?"  
"No, mister Joker," she repiled, nervously fixing her glasses. He giggled quietly.  
"So formal!" he mocked. "Tell me, doctor, why do wear these glasses. You want everyone to treat you seriously? You want to be regarded as smart?"  
Quinzel was ready for that, the name calling, mockery. Every previous psychiatrist of Joker went through it. Every word he'd say should not be taken to heart. Absolutely not. He'd get rid of all the danger this way. Insulting others gave him pleasure, so it seemed. It was a game where he'd hurt his victim in the worst way.  
"No. These are prescribed," Quinzel opposed.  
"Ooh. May I try them on? he asked while crooking his head childishly.  
Harleen hesitated. Despite him being in a straitjacket and chained up, she had to be cautious. He was still staring at her, so she sighed and took them off. She leaned in with Joker. She put the glasses on the clown and he purred. She felt creeps on her spine.  
"How do I look?"  
"Charming," she replied facetiously.  
Joker smiled widely, showing his grill once again. Small wrinkles appeared around his eye corners. He looked quite ridiculous.  
"This is fun," he stated, looking around.  
"So it is our first meeting," she uttered. "I'd like it to go smoothly. During our second session we'll begin to work..." The clown was not listening to her at all, so she went quiet.  
She could look at Joker closely. He seemed fragile. You could forget for a second that he was a dangerous criminal, that he'd snap Harleen's neck any second, if it wasn't for the straitjacket. The blonde grimaced without knowing it. She hadn't noticed when they started to stare at each other. Thick silence hung over them. Her chest squeezed under his intense look. They sat like this for minutes or hours, she had no idea. She felt good.  
"You'd never lie to me, would you?" Joker murmured, leaning.  
"No," she answered involuntarily.  
"What's wrong, doctor Quinzel?" he used her title.  
"You don't belong here."  
It's was true. The Clown-Prince of Crime in a hole like this? Impossible, right? His eyes flashed. "You don't either."  
Sound of opening doors had broken the spell and Harleen blinked, feeling her cheeks redden. She quickly reached for her glasses still sitting on Joker's nose and put them on. A guard came in and began removing the cuffs keeping the clown in place. Harleen recognized him. It was Stewarts.  
"Come on," he growled and pulled Joker up.  
Harleen left without looking back. She stopped when she was beyond block B. She was breathing quickly, resting against cold walls. She laughed quietly and wiped her wet hands.  
A few hours later, when she was in her office, Leland stopped by. She asked about Joker.  
"It went really good."  
"Too good," Joan commented. "Don't celebrate yet. We don't know what that clown is up to."  
Quinzel wasn't planning on celebrating. She had so much work ahead of her. Cracking Joker was awful for some in the past. She understood. They had taken a wrong approach. Classifed the Prince-Clown in the same category as the other patients. He is not like them. He's a genius manipulator with no need of chowing any emotion. He's aware of that and it makes him even more dangerous.  
Harleen has a nose for sensing hidden feelings. She's good at nitpicking things others want to put away. It makes her equally unpredictible.


	5. five

He was waitng for her when she got there. He was sitting hunched in his chair with eyes closed and mouth slightly open. He looked as if he was sleeping. Harlen sat down and told guards to leave. They were left alone and then Joker moved. He looked at her but said nothing. She placed papers on the table, narrowing her lips. The faster she starts, the faster she finishes. Right?  
"Morning."  
"Good morning," she greeted with a smirk. "How are you feeling, mister Joker? Do you have problems with sleep?"  
"I have a lot on my mind."  
"Hm." She will have to talk to Jeremiah about a prescription for Ramelteon. "Well, today I'd like to discuss your praveious statements. Namely, your stories. So far you've had a drinking abusive father, you mentioned a circus, a junkie mother and a loving family. How's that possible?"  
"All you shrinks do is ask, ask and ask," he exclaimed, clearly annoyed. "How am I supposed to tell you anything, if I can't remember?"  
"Oh. So you don't remember anything form your childhood?"  
He did not answer. Harleen noted 'memory loss' next to 'inconsistent stories'.  
"Are you able to recall events which happened later on?" she asked, hoping he'll say something. "For example, your transition to who you are today?"  
"I took a bath in chemicals."  
Ah yes. The blonde looked at the papers. 'Ace Chemicals - clown's birth?' and 'Batman's doing?' were underlined.  
"You were pushed down, right?"  
"I don't remember," he replied coldly.  
Quinzel sighed lightly. Will she have to give up eventually, like the rest of his psychiatrists? She couldn't accept that. Usually those poor people ran away after a few weeks, infuriated with the clown's lies and his cynicism. Defeat was out of question in Harleen's case.  
"Alright. I can see you're not in the mood, mister Joker," she started writing in her notebook. 'Birth of Joker is too painful, silence is a result of a trauma. Patient chose to keep out those memories.'  
"Let's play a game," the clown proposed cheerfully. His irritation had seemed to vanish.  
"Which game?"  
"21 questions. It's not fair you get to ask all those questions. I'm missing out on fun."  
"Mister Joker, I don't think it's a good idea," Harleen answered hesitantly.  
"And why is that?" he growled, forwning.  
"I'm not allowed to reveal any personal information about myself to patients."  
Quinzel did not want to end up like Jean Black. A female patient of hers got her fooled. Then she murdered the Black family using all information she had received. Jean went crazy herself afterwards.  
"I'll try to keep it as not personal as possible. Pretty, pretty please?" Joker begged. His eyes were boring into her own. "I'll be a good boy."  
The girl swallowed helplessly. Would he get mad, if she refused? Or would he keep staring at her with his puppy eyes? Her heart was beating violently.  
"Okay. You start," she agreed to it finally.  
The clown giggled. "Do your friends call you Harley?"  
"I don't have friends."  
He made a surprised face. "My friends call me mister J or simply J. And we are friends, hm?"  
"I think so, mister J."  
Joker purred like a kitten. Except he looked like a shark who couldn't wait to devour his victim. "Your turn, Harley."  
"Do you have many friends? she decided to play along. She quickly noted 'prefered names are mister J/J'.  
"The number does not mean quality. It's better to have a single reliable friend at your side than bunch of fakes, don't you think?"  
'He values loyalty and devotion. A misterious friend?'  
"Who named you Harleen?"  
"My father," she said reluctantly. "Which tattoo had been the first one?"  
"I'll show you someday," he shifted in his straitjacket. "Do you always wear your hair like that?"  
"Only at the Asylum. Some like to get grabby here."  
"If I were to grab you I'd never let go."  
For some reason Harleen got irritated, but she knew that's how he worked with his prey. Sweet compliments and suggestions will enlarge your flattered ego and then make you believe in everything he says. It works best on insecure women searching for praise.  
"And why is that?" Harleen decided to take the bait.  
Joker looked at her from under his long eyelashes.  
"You remember our talk about your daddy, when we got so rudely interrupted. He gave you your name, fucked you up and forced you to this God forgotten hole-"  
"Mister Joker-"  
"He was the one who created this Harleen, daddy's good girl and it's not you-"  
"You promised-"  
"There the real you, hidden deeply," he started talking faster. "I can smell her. I'll never let go."  
"Enough."  
"You can't tell me you've never wanted to rip out his guts."  
"Enough!" Harleen yelled, hitting the table with her fist. Her chest was heaving up quickly, tears blurred her vision. That's exactly what she'd wanted to avoid. She'd let him inside her head. He wants that, her to expose herself. He could play with her without end.  
The clown burst out with loud laughter. He tilted his head back, showing some of his tattoos. "Oh, Harley, Harley baby. There's so much you have to learn about the world."  
A guard runned into the room. "Are you alright, doctor Quinzel?" he asked with care. "Shut up, you freak!"  
"I'm fine," she spoke quietly and stood up.  
"Remember, Harley! Pain is pleasure, pleasure is pain," Joker cried after her.  
Harleen was making a report in asylum's director'd office. She was trying not to stutter.  
"He's having prblems with sleeping. I was thinking about prescribing him Rozerem and keepingan eyes on any issues."  
The man skinned and asked when she was finished. "How are you?"  
"I'm doing good," she said convincingly.  
"As soon as you'll feel you're not able to treat Joker you tell me. Got it?"  
"Yes, sir."


	6. six

"Paul sends his apologies."  
Paul Mars' picture was placed in front of her. The schizopherenic had amazing talent. Harleen guessed it was her on the picture. Her fair locks, blue eyes, full lower lip and many scarlet roses were on the drawing. It was beautiful.  
"He's really sorry," Anath said, excussing his patient's actions. "He hopes you'll forgive him."  
He looked at her pleadingly. "I feel bad, too."  
Harleen smiled slightly. "Nonsense, doctor," she replied shyly. "It was nobody's fault, but please tell Paul I'm not mad."  
The elder man skinned awkwardly and ended the topic. They were sitting in a cafeteria, eating lunch. Harleen had come to work to meet with Ariadna, but her stay in the isolation ward had been extended for another couple days. She knocked out teeth of one of the male nurses and Jeremiah was not happy. The blonde had some free time before a staff meeting.   
"So," Anath spoke. "You're treating Joker."  
The girl nodded curtly.  
"How is it going?"  
Harleen pondered. How was it going? So far she had been able to learn about his memory loss, tattoos and unknown friend of his. He knew much more about her. She sighed.  
"Good?" it sounded like a question. "I mean... I'm still alive."  
The man smiled with sympathy.  
"He's very interested in my person," she continued. "I have to be extra careful, so I don't say something stupid."  
"I have to say, the clown is quite a charismatic persona. Anyone would fall under his charm."  
"It's not exactly about that," the blonde said back. "I'm good at reading people, but I'm an open book myself."  
Guy knew that, too. He quickly realized what had happened that night. She wouldn't laugh at his jokes.  
"I'm guessing Joker is not that easy to read."  
"He's impossible to read," she drawled, thinking about his frightening sneer. "No past, nothing what could explain why he is like that."  
Anath had a strange look on his face. She felt as if he was the experienced adult and she was a stubborn brat, who was proved wrong.  
"I've been in this business for some time now and I've seen a lot," he murmured. "Believe me, every one of those guys here has a reason for doing things. Voices in their heads, daddy issues, genes, doesn't matter. Every one of 'em has something that pushes them forward."  
Quinzel frowned.  
"Joker enjoys violence, blood and corruption, right?"  
"Yes, that's right. He does it for sport."  
"So what is it that he believes in, what is his motivation?"  
Exactly, what?  
A young woman stuck her head inside bashfully. She had a long braid laying on her shoulder. She was probably scared. "Doctor, Paul is ready."  
"Ah, yes. Thank you, Caroline. I'll be there shortly," Anathturned to her and stood up. The girl disappeared.  
Harleen woke up from her daydreaming gustly. "Mind if i tag along?"  
"Sure."  
She took the drawing and they went together to block A. Paul was waiting with Jane Goldblum next to the main exit to outside area for patients. Mars was waggling and Jane was stroking his back. She looked happy. Quinzel waved to both of them. Paul smiled.  
When she finally got to her small apartment, the blonde started thinking about unraveling the Clown-Prince of Crime's motivation. She was sitting in a sunken armchair with her laptop on knees. There was a mug with coffee on a table with various papers next to it. It said on one of the sheets there: 'Sociopathy; glibness, manipulation, pathological lying, lack of remorse, incapacity of love, lack of empathy, imuplsive nature, contemptuousness towards those who seek to help, aim of enslaving victims, extreme narcissism'.  
Harleen was reading the information she could aquire. Although she was not sure, if it was what she needed.  
'Nihilism; from latin "nihil" meaning "nothing, that which does not exist"; all values are baseless and nothing is known; no loyalities, no purpose, only destruction; forms of nihilism: political, ethical, existential'.  
Quinel bit her lip. She wanted to watch recordings which she had got from Jeremiah Arkham. She played the first one of them. It was a standard monitoring video from a session. The date indicated it had been recorded years ago. Joker and his first psychiatrist were sitting opposite of each other. There was no sound. It went on for some time until suddenly the clown arose and pushed away the table separating them.   
He approached the woman who was trying to get away from him. He punched her straight in the face and she feel to the ground. He began to kick and beat her untils he stopped moving. Guards and man wearing white ran into the room and pulled Joker away from the unconscious woman.  
Harleen sat there frozen. She could not tear away her eyes fromt the dark screen. After a while she breathed out, blinking. She felt sick. She put aside her laptop on the floor and cringed in the chair. She had to break away from all of this if only for a while. She fell asleep anxiously.  
"Is something wrong, doctor Quinzel?" Joker asked, dragging out the vowels. "You look upset."  
The blonde gritted her teeth tightly and focused on her notes. She was not upset, but helpless. She was extremely sweaty.  
"Come on, Harley. Say it, honey, say it, say it."  
"Would you kill me, mister J?"  
He was staring at her palms and when she used his nickname, he smiled widely. "Why would I do that?" the clown mumbled, still looking at blonde's hands.  
"Would you hurt me?" she tried again.  
"Depends," he replied shortly.  
"On what?"  
"If you have a lot to answer for," Joker turned his eyes to Harleen's face with his dreadful smile still present. Of course she did! She will never forget about the event and Guy. "Why does it matter?"  
"If you do it's not going to be as fun," he explained jauntily. "The innocent ones taste better."   
He slid his tongue on the metal grill to put stress on what he had just said. Harleen was annoyed. Why couldn't she get any answers out of him?  
"What about your first psychiatrist? Was she innocent?"  
"Jordan?" he said thougthfully. "Not really." He noticed her confused face and sighed impatiently. "Harley, sweet pea, listen carefully because I'm not going to repeat myself."  
Quinzel sat quietly. She did not want to provoke him. He was irritated already.  
"Humans are predictible creatures. Their rules and moral code, it's all shit. Take from them thier sense of safety and you get frightened animals ready to do anything you tell them," the clown spoke, not leaving his eyes from her face. "Just to save thier own asses."  
Harleen exhaled hesitantly.  
"I've told you already, Harley," he kept talking. "You're not like... them. These civilized people would leave you to sharks, if you so dared to lift a finger in a wrong way. Am I right, doctor?"  
Of course he was right. She did not want to admit to it, though. The Clown-Prince of Crime had triumph written all over him. His eyes sparkled dangerously. Harleen leaned forward, testing the waters. Her heart almost jumped out from her chest.  
"Is that why you do what you do, mister J?" she asked in low voice. "Do you enjoy destroying everything around you?"  
Joker smiled and purred. He looked ecstatic. He said something, but Harleen could not understand him. "Tell me, J."  
He licked his lips and uttered gutturally, "You'd make an excellent anarchist, my Harley Quinn."  
The new nickname threw Quinzel off guard, but she understood where it came from. You had to move a few letters around and you got 'harlequin', a medieval jester. The blonde could not help but smile.


End file.
